Will We Make It?

Contained

I let my eyes stay shut.

It isn’t hard—my head feels like it’s been split open and stuffed with wet wool—but I keep them closed deliberately, forcing my breath to slow, shallow, and even. Fake sleep. Fake unconsciousness.

The stone beneath me is freezing. My wrists ache inside the restraints—iron, heavy, old. Every inhale tastes like dust, candle smoke, and something metallic beneath it.

I swallow quietly and listen.

Footsteps. Three sets. Soft, confident, slow.

“She isn’t waking anytime soon.”

Ma’am’s voice. The clipped one. Every syllable like it’s carved with a blade.

“She will,” Mistress replies, calm and patient. “She’s resilient.”

There’s movement—cloth whispering, heels tapping lightly. Madame lets out a smothered giggle, too amused for the situation.

“Oh, Mistress… you’re already attached.”

Her tone drips with delight.

I force my body to stay limp.

Mistress’s voice lowers. “That has nothing to do with this.”

“Mmh.” Madame sounds unconvinced. “You hovered over her like she was a treasure someone almost stole.”

“She was almost stolen,” Mistress snaps softly. “And whose fault is that?”

Footsteps shift. Ma’am exhales sharply through her nose.

“You can’t blame the staff for your indulgence,” Ma’am says. “You should not have kept her so close. You know how the new ones get.”

“She is not like the others,” Mistress answers.

My pulse is loud in my ears. Not like the others? What others?

Ma’am scoffs—quiet but unmistakably hostile. “That is the problem. We don’t need a stray right now. We need order. Routine. Predictability.” Her boots scrape as she circles. “Not a girl who fights. Not a girl who runs.”

Madame hums thoughtfully. “Oh, but that’s what makes her fun. They’re all the same after a week, but this one? Did you see the way she glared before she went down?” Fabric rustles as she moves closer to me. I feel her presence like static against my skin. “She has heat.”

“Heat gets them killed,” Ma’am mutters.

“She isn’t dying.” Mistress’s voice is soft but absolutely final.

Silence follows—thick enough I imagine them exchanging looks.

Then Ma’am speaks again, lower, harsher, as if Mistress has crossed a line. “You can’t keep her. We don’t have the resources to coddle a wild one. Especially not one who—”

Madame cuts in lightly. “Who escaped.”

The word lands cold in my gut.

Mistress exhales, slow and steady. “She was frightened.”

“Frightened girls don’t pick locks,” Ma’am says. “Or slip out unnoticed. Or sprint down corridors that should be impossible for them to reach.”

Impossible?

I keep my breathing slow. Don’t react.

Madame laughs softly. “She was clever. I like clever. Clever girls last longer.”

Ma’am snarls quietly. “We are not keeping her alive for your entertainment, Madame.”

“Oh, hush.”

Mistress steps closer—I can tell by the way the warmth of her breath lightly brushes my cheek. I fight the urge to flinch.

“She’s mine.”

Mistress says it quietly. Calmly. With absolute certainty.

“Not yet,” Ma’am snaps. “You haven’t touched her.”

Touched?

The word sends a chill down my arms.

Madame perches on something—wood creaks under her weight. “Oh, Mistress touches with her mind, not her hands.” The smile is audible. “She’s already claimed the girl. Look at her. Even unconscious, she leans toward you.”

I definitely do not.

But Mistress seems pleased, because I feel her fingers graze my jaw—barely a whisper of contact. I clamp down on every instinct to recoil.

“She stays,” Mistress murmurs. “I will handle her.”

Ma’am makes a disgusted sound. “You said that last time, and we lost the girl within a day.”

Madame tuts. “You killed that one, love. Don’t rewrite history.”

Ma’am’s voice sharpens. “She bit me.”

“She panicked,” Mistress counters calmly. “We didn’t teach her.”

“You can’t teach this one either.” Ma’am’s boots stop directly beside me. I smell leather, cold air, something sharp. “She’s too aware. Too stubborn. It’ll be more trouble than it’s worth.”

“I disagree,” Mistress says.

I hear footsteps again—Mistress pacing slowly.

“She should have been memory-wiped properly before arrival,” Mistress says. “If that had been done correctly, we wouldn’t be here.”

Madame sighs dramatically. “Perhaps someone cut corners. Again.”

Her voice lingers pointedly on someone.

Ma’am growls. “I did not.”

Mistress ignores them both. “Regardless… she is here now. And I want her stabilized.”

A pause.

Then Ma’am: “Or silenced.”

My lungs lock. I keep them still.

“No,” Mistress says immediately. “She is mine. And I will not let you harm her.”

Madame chuckles. “There it is again.”

Ma’am scoffs. “You’re compromising us.”

“I don’t compromise.”

Mistress says it like a promise—or a threat.

Madame drifts closer; I feel a strand of her hair brush my arm. “If she stays, I get to play with her eventually.”

“No,” Mistress says.

Madame sighs. “No one ever lets me have nice things.”

Ma’am turns sharply—her heels scrape against stone. “I’m done arguing. If she wakes and becomes a problem, I will handle it myself.”

“You won’t touch her,” Mistress replies, voice turning unlike anything I’ve heard from her before—flat, cold, ruling.

Ma’am freezes.

Madame whistles quietly. “I felt that across the room.”

I hear cloth rustle as Mistress kneels beside me. Her breath warms my ear.

“She’s waking soon,” Mistress says softly. “Her pulse changed.”

I freeze even harder.

Madame hums. “Should we go, then? Let her find the chains on her own? It’s always adorable when they panic.”

Ma’am scoffs. “Adorable isn’t the word.”

Mistress stands. “Yes. Leave her. I’ll speak with her alone.”

Of course she will.

Madame sounds delighted. “Ooooh. Alone time. How sweet.”

Ma’am’s footsteps move toward the door. “This is a mistake,” she mutters.

Madame follows, still humming.

Mistress lingers.

I feel her hand hover over my cheek, then drift away.

“She’ll listen,” Mistress murmurs to herself. “She’ll learn.”

The door opens.

Closes.

The lock clicks.

Only once they’re gone do I finally open my eyes—and my breath catches painfully in my throat.

I really am chained.

And I really am alone with whatever they plan next.